


Don't Think Twice (It's All Right)

by Bad Samaritan (quodpersortem)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Barebacking, Fluff, M/M, Porn With Plot, Romance, Tattoos, feelgood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 02:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Bad%20Samaritan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas made a bet with Gabriel: Either he gets a tattoo, or Gabe will throw him a surprise party for his birthday. The choice is an easy one.</p><p>That's when he meets Dean, tattoo artist extraordinaire (and hot as hell).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Think Twice (It's All Right)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badasstiels](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=badasstiels).



> I was going to put up some sort of warning about not going to a shabby parlor if you want one, but I'm going to trust you with that. Seriously, though, pick a place that's sanitary and where you like the artist(s), you want to have a good experience after all!
> 
> (And hey, I've heard some stories about people making out with their tattoo artist for fun...)

Castiel walks into a tattoo shop one afternoon.

It’s uncharacteristic for him, not something he has ever done before or thinks he will ever do again, but Gabriel has been pestering him again about being a softie (which he isn’t, thank you very much)—and then somehow he got his hands on the design Castiel’s been keeping at the bottom of his drawer for years.

It’s pretty abstract, actually, the mandala. Cas hasn’t told Gabriel that it’s a mandala of hope specifically, but Gabe did say that it’s kind of girly. Castiel doesn’t think so.

Besides, he’s known where he wants it for quite some time.

“Hello,” he greets the only man in the parlor. It’s small and he has walked down this street for years now without noticing it. One of Gabriel’s friends said this is the best tattoo artist in town, easily able to make a living from it. Then Jo’d interrupted Gabriel and his friend to say that yes, this Dean guy really is the best, he was the son of her dad’s best friend, and her dad got his last tattoo from him, only months before his death.

 “Hey, how can I help you?” He—Dean, Castiel assumes—strips off the latex gloves he’d been wearing and walks up to the small counter. It looks more like a bar, in all honesty—if Castiel hadn’t had good recommendations, he would not have come here.

“I would like to get a tattoo,” Castiel says, and it sounds awkward even to his own ears. He fumbles the scrap of paper from his pocket—a black and white copy of a picture he found in a book.

“Let’s see,” the guy mutters, looking at it. “Looks pretty cool, where’d you wanna get it?”

“Uh, on my spine,” Castiel says quietly, still feeling out of place. “Between my shoulder blades.”

“D’you want to make an appointment? ‘Cause I could do it now, I’ve got a couple of hours off, but if you say you wanna do it later so you can prepare or whatever, that’s fine too.”

Castiel nods. “Now is alright. It’s, eh, it’s for a bet,” he adds.

The man looks up at him. “A bet, huh? And you’re going through with it?”

“Oh, I won’t-,” Castiel blushes. “My brother knew I wanted a tattoo and it is either man up and get one, or he’ll throw a surprise party on my birthday.”

“Not a fan of surprises then, hm?” The man smiles and oh dear god, he’s gorgeous. Cas, feeling a little taken back by the man’s looks, nods again and the guy holds out his hand. “I’m Dean, by the way, but if you found me you probably knew that.”

“No, I am not fond of surprises, and yes I knew. I am Castiel,” Cas shakes Dean’s hand and it’s warm and dry, maybe a little calloused—but that’s all he can feel before Dean withdraws.

“Okay, so, how large do you want it?” Dean asks him.

“Something like that,” he points at his copy, where the diameter is roughly three inches. “Not too big. I don’t want it to be too obvious.”

“I’m going to copy it a few times and then we’ll look at it again, alright? I think it’s going to look better if I make it a bit bigger. More space for details. I’ll be right back, you just wait here!” Dean takes the picture and leaves Castiel in the front of the store. There’s a chair though, so he sits down and waits.

After a while, Dean comes back. “Okay, so, I didn’t enlarge it very much but you gotta take a look anyway. Approve its size. It’s your body after all.” He smiles at Castiel, and for the first time today, he feels something like relaxation in his body.

He shows Castiel and it looks drop-dead gorgeous. Dean has traced the lines and added a little shading, possibly to show Castiel he’s good at it and win his trust. It’s monochrome and Cas doesn’t mean to smile, but he does so regardless.

“You like it?” Dean asks, and Castiel looks up—the artist is still smiling back at him.

“It’s amazing like this,” Cas confesses, tracing the lines with his finger. “It’s perfect. I’ll, yes, I’ll get it now.” The lines have been simplified and the contrasts between the different areas are better like this, grayscale done in Dean’s hand. He doesn’t want to wait any longer, feels an itch to get this wonderful piece of art on his body now.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles before pushing his sleeves up a little more. His white shirt looks crisp and the dark blue waistcoat he’s wearing over it has a fine gray pinstripe on it, making him look slimmer than he really is. There’s not a smudge of ink or another blemish anywhere else.

When he walks to a table shoved against a wall towards the back while telling Castiel to follow and unbutton his shirt, Cas checks out his butt—it shows well in the slacks Dean’s wearing. He quickly thinks of the pain he’ll soon feel and not how he’s about to lose his shirt in front of a hot guy, suppressing the first sparks of arousal.

“I’m going to print it on transfer paper and put it on you so you can see what it’s like on your back,” Dean says as Castiel starts to pull off his shirts. “We can still change the position after that, so if you’re not satisfied with it, this will be the time to tell.” Cas is still feeling elated and kind of nervous, and only now it strikes him as slightly odd that Gabriel isn’t here, even though he was the one to instigate the bet.

“Alright,” Cas mutters, folding the shirts and looking around for a place to put them.

“Just put them on the tattooing table,” Dean says, cutting away the edges of the paper he’s holding. Cas puts his clothes on it and looks at Dean again.

“I’m just going to shave the place you want it,” Dean says, “So you can stand up with your back to me, please.”

Castiel nods and then faces the mirror, watching and feeling Dean’s fingers on his skin. He has to suppress a shiver. Then he can feel the razor glide across his skin, painless in the water—or whatever it is—Dean sprayed on, and then Dean’s hands pressing on the transfer paper.

Cas takes in a deep breath and hears Dean chuckle behind him. “Your first?” he asks and Cas nods again. He doesn’t trust his voice right now.  “Don’t worry too much. It’ll hurt, but the less tense you are, the easier it’ll be.”

“Okay,” Cas croaks then.

“Turn around now, pretty boy, so you can take a look at it in the mirror,” Dean tells him then, and Castiel is pretty sure he blushes furiously but he doesn’t know how to respond to Dean’s compliment. After all—what if Dean is only joking? For all Cas knows, he flatters all his customers with flirtations. Gabe, after all, usually says that flirting is the easiest way to getting people to like you—and to do your favors.

It’s pretty difficult to see his back in the mirror, so Dean gets a smaller one—nudging Cas’ shoulder as he walks past, then Dean holds the smaller mirror just so that he can see the mandala on his back. The lines are thicker than they’ll be once it’s an actual tattoo, they’re blue and smudged, but still he feels a rush of adoration rush through his body. It really is, like he told Dean before, perfect. Including where he put it—not too high up his back, not too low, and exactly between his shoulder blades.

“Like it?” Dean checks again, and Cas supposes that might be part of why he has such an extensive fan base—he’s constantly aware of what the customer wants and likes, seems to have a penchant for it even.

“Yes,” Cas nods enthusiastically, grinning at Dean again. “I think it looks very good like that.”

“I think so too,” Dean smiles back, putting the mirror back as Castiel walks back to the tattooing bench.

“Do I have to sit or lie down?” he asks Dean, who looks around for a few seconds and then drags out a comfortable looking chair without armrests. It has a couple of pillows against the backrest.

“Sit backwards,” he says, “and lean your chest against the backrest.” He rolls another chair away from his desk and sits down on it, pulling on a fresh set of latex gloves and setting up his machine. Cas has his head turned around, watching every move Dean makes interestedly. He pours some ink into a small plastic cup and then grins at Cas again.

“You ready for this?” he asks, and Cas nods, facing a wall, low table and a record player. There are several posters of old school tattoos on the walls, and a couple of drawings he suspects are Dean’s own.

“I’m going to begin now,” Dean mutters and Cas braces himself, but he hears the machine buzz and Dean doesn’t start on his spine and frankly, it hurts less than he expected. He lets out a breath and focuses on Dean’s fingers, rather than on the mild pain. It mostly feels like he fell, scratched his knee, and now his mother is putting a band-aid on it. The memory is a pleasant one.

“So,” Dean says after a few minutes, and Cas realizes that _he_ probably had to start the conversation. “A bet. Why did you go along with it?”

“I—My brother found the design of the tattoo a while back and said it was girly and I should throw it away. I explained why I would not,” Cas shivers, the mix of pain and Dean’s touch still getting to him in unexpected ways, “and I knew he wanted to throw me a surprise party for my birthday. I don’t want him to, and I did—do want the tattoo, so we struck a bet and now hopefully he will cancel his plans and leave me alone for the day.”

“Couldn’t you just ask that as birthday present?” Dean chuckles and Cas shakes his head.

“No. I wish, but my brother is very stubborn. He likes his parties.” He loves Gabe, but the guy can be an absolute pain.

“Ah, yeah, my brother’s dragged me into some stupid plans as well,” Dean chuckles. “His name’s Sam, he’s four years younger than me and clever as fuck but _damn_ -“ Dean trails off then and Cas realized he almost breached a sensitive subject. He doesn’t want to ask so he stays quiet instead.

“Man, I love mandalas,” Dean says after a while, and Castiel smiles even though he knows Dean can’t see.

“Do you have one as well?” he asks. He’s seen that Dean has a full sleeve on his left arm and a butterfly with watery colors on the inside of his right arm, but wasn’t able to spot a mandala.

“Yeah, on my shoulder,” Dean responds, rubbing some Vaseline on Cas’ skin. He’s been doing that regularly and Castiel supposes it might be to speed up the healing process or keep the skin from breaking—he should ask Dean. “It’s pretty awesome, a friend did it a long time ago. Was the first of my sleeve.”

“What does it stand for?” Cas asks.

Dean chuckles, “Wisdom. I was at a turning point in my life, back then, and it was either get clever or stay miserable forever.”

“Did you get clever?” Cas knows that this might be too personal, but at the same time he trusts Dean enough to shut up when he doesn’t want to tell his clients something.

“Yeah, I suppose. Didn’t fall back into my old habits, at least.” He’s quiet again for a minute and then tells Cas, “I am moving on to your spine, which is gonna hurt more. You might wanna brace yourself.”

Cas curls his arms around the backrest of the chair, biting down on his lip as he feels Dean rub Vaseline over his spine and then the machine starts buzzing again. He gasps as the pain starts to seep through his skin, into his body, fighting to keep still as the urge to move away kicks in. It is horrible, he wishes he hadn’t chosen this place, he shouldn’t have gotten a tattoo and dear god it will be permanent—

“Relax, dude,” Dean says behind him, even though Cas has trouble focusing on his voice. “I got a mandala mostly cos I thought they were cool. Kind of to go against institutionalized religion too, no offense, ‘cause so many customers I’d had up to then were Christians who just wanted a teeny tiny cross or fish. They thought I should convert, and I never liked to be forced into anything.” Castiel closes his eyes and tries to ignore the buzz of the machine as Dean keeps talking. “Did get a cross myself later on, my mother died when I was pretty young and I wanted to remember her like that. It seemed like it fit, even though she never went to church. Then I got a James Dean tat by this guy who did incredible portraits. Added some more occult symbols because I fucking love the look of those and horror movies are the goddamn best, and the Blue Öyster Cult logo fit right in with those.” Castiel has no idea what Blue Öyster Cult is, but the way Dean says it, implies that it’s less dark than he thinks.

The rest of the hour, they spend talking. Castiel focuses on Dean’s voice and his hands, rather than on the pain the needle brings—especially whenever Dean traces line across his spine or, to a lesser degree, when he starts the shading. Everything seems to blend into sharp pain and a racing heart, and Dean’s stories that help him calm down.

Cas learns about how Dean always loved to draw but never knew what to do with it, until one of his friends in high school got a tattoo. He got his first soon after and never stopped. He learns that not only did Dean’s mother die young, but his father dragged them all over the country after she passed away, until finally Dean had enough of it and found a small apartment for him and his brother. He’s been living in Lawrence for seven years now, although he was born here too, and Bill was one of his first customers in town. Jo came with him and she was the first girl Dean ever turned down, not because he didn’t think she was nice but because he felt like he didn’t deserve her. They did become friends after that.

He doesn’t mention a partner, but he sounds like a calm and clever conversationalist, passionate about what he does and confident in it too—and so it’s not a hard guess that there must be someone special in Dean’s life. Castiel ignores the painful twinge in his stomach when he thinks of who the lucky (probably) girl might be.

Dean also talks about his tattoos: A pin-up girl on his arm, because he loves old school tattoos, James Dean right near it—the guy his mother apparently named him after—the occult signs he talked to Cas about earlier and the Blue Öyster Cult symbol—as it turns out, it’s a band. His most prized tattoo, however, is a huge back piece of what he calls a Devil’s Trap—the design of which Cas has come across back in religious studies and has to admit is pretty cool.

For his own part, he talks about how he once studied to be a priest but when he started to look up other religions and did not live at home anymore, under the strict regimen of his now-deceased father, he felt it didn’t suit him that well at all. He doesn’t explain to Dean why, but Dean does keep making agreeing hums. Then he says he lives a more or less Buddhist lifestyle now, even though his job as an editor doesn’t always leave him with much free time, meaning he’ll grab a burger about as often as cook by himself, that he tends to forget to give his change or some food to the homeless.

When it’s almost done, Dean rolls his chair back. He’s quiet for a little while, probably looking at the places where the shading isn’t quite right yet, or where the lines aren’t quite dark enough yet—these are all Castiel’s assumptions though. Then he says, “Man, your girlfriend is gonna love this.”

“I- I don’t have a girlfriend,” Cas mutters, suddenly blushing again because he doesn’t know what to make of it. Maybe Dean simply assumes every half-good looking guy that comes in is taken because _he_ is, or maybe he’s trying to figure out Cas’ availability. Then again, he doubts the latter is possible. Dean’s a guy with tattoos and plugs in his ears and wearing alternative clothing—or at least, clothing not a lot of people wear casually. Castiel is a guy who works as an editor and wears sweaters or white shirts with a tie that never stays straight down, and who only just got his first tattoo—and had to work hard to keep himself from twitching at that.

“Okay, well, you’re done,” Dean tells him after he touches up the shading in a couple of places, not asking Cas out on a date, not saying anything about it at all. “Just stay right here, I’m going to clean you up a bit, put some A and D on and bandage you up.”

He starts to gently dab the sore area and Cas feels like his entire upper back is on fire. He sits up a little straighter, his vertebrae popping uncomfortably as they shift for the first time in over an hour. Cas also moves his head around, taking a deep breath as he shifts awkwardly.

Somewhere during the past hour he’d gotten an erection, and he’s not particularly keen on showing it to Dean. He’s just started to recite all of the presidents from memory, trying to remember what they looked like to will his hard on down, when Dean taps his shoulder.

“I forgot to ask earlier, but do you want to see the tat before I put a cover over it?”

“Uh,” Cas stammers, looking down at his erection. It’s still pretty visible and he doesn’t move from where he’s sitting. “I kind of—can’t.”

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Dean says, stunned for a moment but laughing almost immediately afterwards. “Don’t worry, dude, happens to the best of us. Just, eh, give it some time.”

Cas closes his eyes and tries his best not to wonder if Dean had sounded a little breathless, a little flustered. He swallows and thinks of Nixon and what he would have looked like naked. Now the pain and Dean’s touch are gone, though, his arousal fades as well. Within a few minutes, he’s okay to get up and, still blushing faintly, he walks to the large mirror he also used to see the outline before Dean started. Dean holds up the mirror again, although he seems a lot more focused on Cas’ reflection than he was before—when he’d been looking right at Cas’ face, probably to gauge his responses.

It looks larger now than it did then, the black a stark contrast to his light skin. When he flexes his shoulder blades, the tattooed skin ripples along with it. Although it still burns a little, the sharp pain has gone completely.

It’s breathtaking.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at it, but eventually Dean grins and asks, “Can I take a picture of it? I wanna put it on my website.”

Cas agrees with it, and pays after Dean has bandaged him up and he’s got his shirt back on. “Remember to take good care of it, wash at least twice a day and keep pressure off it. As soon as it starts to itch, don’t scratch it. Don’t pull at any scabs either, because that could ruin your tattoo,” Dean instructs. “Don’t rub at it with washcloths either the first weeks, it’s really gotta heal on its own. A and D is pretty good to put on, but you can use any kind of salve that’s not too aggressive or chemical. If you’re not sure, call me.”

Cas gets Dean’s card as well, which he supposes might be to draw in more customers as well as him being able to contact Dean, but still it feels a little special when his fingers brush Dean’s.

They bide their goodbyes, and before Cas steps out into the cool air again, Dean casually says, “You can drop by anytime you like, it’s always cool seeing how tats heal up.”

Cas smiles back shyly and nods.

The bell rings again when he opens the door, and he deliberately does not look back to see if Dean’s watching him go.

***

He has Gabe clean the tattoo for him the first couple of times. His brother complains about the black snot oozing out of it, and Cas chuckles, although he is pretty sure he wouldn’t have liked to clean it himself.

Gabe does keep his promise though—when Castiel celebrates his birthday the next week, there are no annoying surprises waiting for him. Instead Gabe fucks off to a different party, thrown by a friend, and asks Cas to come with him.

Cas doesn’t. Instead he stays at home, glad to be at home after an afternoon with his family and a few close friends. He watches TV for a while, tries not to scratch at his healing and scabbing tattoo, and then becomes very flustered at the thought of seeing Dean again.

Because he will see Dean again. He hasn’t booked an appointment yet, but he wants at least one more tattoo—and who else will he go to, but Dean? Cas is more than satisfied with the end result of his mandala, even though it looks disgusting with the black scabs on top.

The general idea he has in mind will require more time near Dean though, and Cas shivers at the memory of Dean’s hands on him. Since he’s thinking about his chest as next placement, it’ll mean he’s going to be facing Dean as well. Fuck—he wonders what Dean looks like when he’s concentrating on something.

 The past days he’s been thinking of Dean regularly, trying to remember the little details of his face, his clothes, his tattoos, and each time it sends a rush of want through his body. He’s been putting off any action so far, but that means it’s been a week since he got off and he’s sick of it. So what if Dean turns out to have a girlfriend—it doesn’t mean he can’t think about him.

So Cas gets up, grabs a towel from his bathroom, and treats himself to a long jerk-off session, moaning into his pillow as he fucks his hand and imagines Dean is fucking him from behind.

***

The next day he phones Dean.

“Hello, this is Dean Winchester, how can I help you?” Dean’s voice sounds tinny through the receiver, but Cas still feels himself smile.

“Hello, Dean. You are speaking to Castiel, you did my mandala tattoo.” He blushes a little as he wonders whether that came out all right or if he should have said something else.

“Ah, yeah,” Dean immediately responds, “Came in on a bet, yeah?”

“Yes,” Castiel chuckles.

“Great! How’s the healing?”

“It is looking pretty good, thank you,” Cas responds. “I just—I was wondering, do you have any spare time?” He takes a deep breath and when there’s silence on the other end of the line, he realizes his mistake. “I mean, uh, I would like to make another appointment.”

“Okay,” Dean says over the phone, and Cas hears the rustling of paper. “How large? And do you have a design ready?”

“I am not sure yet, and, no not quite. I do have an idea but-“ Cas trails off, because he definitely can’t say _I can’t wait to see you again_. “I am not sure yet.”

“That’s fine,” Dean tells him. “Are you available on—” again, papery sounds, “Next week Friday afternoon? I have a few appointments but if you drop by at three, I should be free.”

“Um,” Castiel says, because he has to work on Fridays—but he supposes he can get away from his job as an editor early one day. The magazine he works for is a monthly anyway, and it is not as though he is a regular slacker. “Yes.”

“Okay, great!” Dean says, though that might as well be because Castiel is a paying customer. “I’ll be seeing you then!”

“Okay, bye, Dean,” Castiel responds, and then disconnects the call before he becomes tempted to say something else.

***

He is nervous when he steps through the door of Dean’s shop again.

It’s silent inside apart from the familiar bell that rings, and after a couple of seconds he hears Dean call out from somewhere in the back. “I’ll be right with you!”

Dean comes out drying his hands and tossing the paper into a waste bin. “Hey, Cas. Good to see you back,” Dean smiles.

“Yes, hello Dean. I—I’m not sure what I want.”

“Okay, no problem,” Dean tells him. “Tell you what, I’ll grab some paper and we’ll look at what I can do for you, if we find something you like. If not, that’s fine too, you can always come back later.”

“Okay,” Cas nods. “Where do you-“

“Oh, right,” Dean smiles, “you can come ‘round here. I have my desk here.”

Castiel follows and watches Dean as he sits down, offering a low stool he rolls from under the desk to Cas. Castiel sits down too, his arm brushing against Dean’s whenever he moves a little, sending spikes of heat through his body; sparks of butterflies banging against his stomach walls.

“So, what was your idea?” Dean says and Castiel feels himself grow red as Dean stares at him. He looks genuinely interested in what he has to say, and Cas isn’t someone who gets attention a lot—besides in his work, where it is different.

“I found the mandala when I was studying theology,” Castiel starts, “and I would like something else with that theme. I mean, it was what turned me away from organized religion, especially Christianity, as that was how I was raised. I was meant to become a priest,” he blushes more fiercely now, because it might affect Dean’s opinion of him.

“Really? A priest?” Dean smiles, but does not seem repulsed by it. “So, what happened?”

Cas shrugs. “I left home. It was—a bit of a poisonous environment. As it turned out, Christianity did not suit me at all.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, “sexuality?” He must see Castiel’s shocked response to that, because he immediately adds, “I didn’t want to pry, just-“

“No, no, it’s okay,” Cas says quickly. “It’s not that, I don’t think so anyway. More that I felt I had outgrown it. The idea of heaven and hell and sinning and not making up for it, or sinning and going to a confessional and your slate is clean again. I didn’t agree with it and I grew more and more angry with it. With God.”

“So, you quit Christianity and you quit your studies,” Dean concludes for Cas, and Castiel nods.

“Essentially, yes. Yet, I grew up with it and it has influenced my entire life so far so I want something to represent that.”

“Your fall from grace,” Dean jokes, but Cas simply stares at him with wonder at how accurate those words describe his feelings about leaving his old religion.

“Yes,” he says, still slightly stunned, and that is when Dean notices Cas’ mood swing.

“So—do you want something with that?” Dean asks, quieter than before. Cas nods, leaving the interpretation to Dean, curious to know what he is thinking. “Your name, it’s angelic, right?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“So, fallen angel?” he wonders out loud, and Cas feels a little awkward because although he does very much like the idea—has even briefly thought about having wings tattooed around the mandala—he is by no means an angel.

“I want the tattoo over my heart,” he reminds Dean, and Dean nods.

“I know. So I was thinking, falling feathers? Just one or two, maybe a little one. You could always expand later on.” Again, Castiel gets the idea that Dean is a master at reading his mind, and he shifts in his seat, brushing his arm against Dean’s again.

“Like an angel who lost his wings.”

“Yes,” Dean turns his head to smile at Cas, and if his eyes flicker down to Castiel’s lips—well, Cas supposes that is only because he happened to lick them. “So, what do you say?”

Cas nods, and leans back a little. He needs to put more distance between Dean and himself, feels constricted by their proximity—it suffocates him, leaves him unable to think about anything but the gorgeous lines of Dean’s body, of the way he guesses things about Cas.

“I was thinking about maybe getting wings,” he says quietly. “On my back, around the mandala.”

“Small ones?” Dean asks and Cas shakes his head.

“No, large ones. They would have to expand across my back, maybe my arms.”

“Okay, so, you want to keep that option open?” Dean asks and Cas nods.

“I would like to, yes.”

Dean grins, “I can make them look like they are falling down from your shoulder. Not much a difference, really. I guess it’d look magnificent though.”

Castiel smiles too, “Yes. Yes, I think so as well.”

He watches then, as Dean quickly sketches out two, three feathers. They are only rough outlines but he has seen the details Dean can do—in his own mandala, but also the pictures on the wall and in the book Dean gave him so he wouldn’t grow bored as he waited. Castiel didn’t tell him that he wouldn’t get bored even without the book, because watching Dean draw is fantastic.

“What do you say?” Dean asks, his breath ghosting over Cas’ face as he suddenly sits upright, their bodies colliding. Castiel’s heart thuds rapidly and his mouth is dry and-

“I’m sure they will look great,” he stammers, “Dean,” and then doesn’t know what else to say.

“I think anything’d look great on you,” Dean winks at Cas, and Castiel blushes as he shrugs and watches Dean get up to copy the feathers onto transfer paper. “Take off your shirt and sit on the table. I’m going to have you lie down for the tattoo.”

Cas quickly strips down—this time he is only wearing one shirt, a dark blue sleeveless shirt that he’s had forever. It’s a bit chilly in the room, but he knows he won’t mind once Dean starts tattooing—the pain got him warm before.

Nevertheless, he shivers lightly and feels his nipples perk up at the cold. Dean turns to him and notices too, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he sits down in his chair and cuts the edges from the transfer paper. He sprays water onto Cas’ chest and shaves him, even though there is very little to shave on his pecs. His gloved fingers are warm when they brush Cas’ skin, holding the stencil for one of the feathers in front of Cas’ chest for a while, moving it around a little before putting it on Cas’ chest.

He presses firmly and Cas gasps, feeling the beginning of an erection in his jeans. Dean rubs to get it on there, and he’s already growing flushed. Dean looks very concentrated as he continues with the second feather, although he must snap out of it at some point because his finger definitely lingers on Cas’ nipple for too long. This time he has to suppress a moan, invoked by Dean’s accidental touch.

The last feather is smallest, fluffy down, and Dean and Cas agreed earlier on that it will be on Castiel’s rib cage, right beneath his left pectoral muscle. It falls easily into the shade and Dean goes with the curve of his body, but when he has put it in place, he trails his finger down Castiel’s side and this time he cannot convince himself anymore that all Dean’s touches have been accidental.

“What are you doing?” he breathes—he had wanted to say it but oh, his voice is wrecked.

“Looks like you’ve got a little problem,” Dean mutters as he looks down, his fingers now on Cas’ thigh.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, staring right at Dean. Dean’s pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed, and God, Cas wants to kiss him, shove his fists into his hair and drag him closer, he wants—he wants so much, and he doesn’t know what to ask. He spreads his legs though, and Dean looks down again, and back up at Cas, and then opens his mouth to say something.

He doesn’t. Instead he leans in and kisses Cas, hot and desperate. Castiel immediately responds, opening his mouth and dragging Dean in, closing his legs around his hips. Dean makes a surprised sound, and then tries to say something into Cas’ mouth.

“What,” he asks quickly, nipping at Dean’s jaw because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take his chance now.

“Never been so fucking glad a customer came back,” Dean mutters, drawing away from Cas. “Just, really gotta lock up. Someone might stop by.”

Cas is reluctant in letting Dean go, but relaxes his legs anyway. Dean steps away and goes to the front, locking the door and pulling the curtains closed. He shifts, his cock twitching as Dean walks back with quick, purposeful steps.

“Here?” Cas asks Dean and Dean simply growls at that, pushing their mouths together again and sliding his hand against Cas’ neck, then down his back to where the mandala tattoo is still shedding its last scabs.

“Right now,” Dean confirms, and then his hands are all over Cas’ chest.

They go on like that for a while, minutes where Cas tries to remember everything but fails because Dean’s hands are on him, his mouth, his tongue and teeth. They grab and kiss and lick and suck, and Dean’s standing between Castiel’s spread legs, pushing their clothed erections together.

Cas pushes at Dean’s shirt and he willingly pulls it off, showing a wide chest with an amazing golden hue, with the dark tattoos curling up his arm and around his shoulder. He touches the mandala on Dean’s shoulder, fitting perfectly around the joint, and Dean shivers under his touch.

Then he curses, a slew of indistinctive cusses under his breath, and tells Cas, “Don’t have condoms here.”

Castiel kisses Dean again, smoothes his thumb over Dean’s frown, “I don’t have any either but—I’m clean. Hundred percent sure.”

“Me too,” Dean kisses Cas back, “but are you sure-?”

“When did you last get tested?” Cas whispers, and Dean smiles against his skin.

“Twice a year, always. I work as a tattoo artist. Last results came in a few weeks ago.”

“Mine came in almost two years ago,” Castiel tells him, “and I haven’t been with anyone since months before I got tested. So I’d say we’re okay.”

“Cas-“ Dean starts but Cas kisses him again to shut him up. Normally he would not accept it, sex without protection, not since—but Dean’s hot and hard up against him and he wants this, _needs_ this.

Then he does pull down Dean’s zipper, pushes down Dean’s pants and underwear in one go and closes his fingers around his erection. Dean moans into his mouth and Cas starts stroking him, enough to arouse him more but not with the intention to get him off.

Dean starts to fumble with Cas’ jeans too then, and he hops off the table to help him, quickly stripping and kicking off his shoes before Dean pulls away his jeans and throws them aside. His boxers land nearer to the table and then Dean pushes him onto the table again, bringing their cocks together as Castiel lifts one of his legs onto the table, the other hanging off it, baring himself to Dean.

They kiss and then Dean withdraws, touching Castiel constantly as he grabs for the jar of Vaseline, previously used to smooth the needle down Cas’ skin and now, now he’s scooping a generous amount onto two fingers.

It all goes unspoken, intuitively, Cas lifting his leg off the table so Dean can hook his arm under his knee. His cock is dripping a strand of precome onto his stomach and Dean sees it, bends down to lick it off as he brings up the slicked-up fingers to rub against Cas’ hole, then push in gently, both at the same time.

It may have been several years since Castiel has done this with someone else, it has not been a week since he did it to himself. He moans as Dean pushes his fingers in deeper, searching, searching, and brings his hand down to stroke himself but Dean says “No” so he stops the movement.

And then Dean finds his prostate, rubbing at it as soon as he does, making Cas scream and buck up in Dean’s arms. He vaguely registers Dean adding another finger, but relaxed and comfortable as he is on the padded bench, it’s hardly a stretch.  Then there’s a fourth finger and he arches up into the feeling this time, his cock throbbing harder as Dean’s erection rubs against his thigh.

“Come on, Dean,” he whines, grabbing the edges of the table as Dean braces himself between his legs, guiding his cock to Cas’ entrance.

The blunt head presses for a moment, and another, and then Cas sighs and relaxes some more and Dean slides in with a gasp.

“Oh, _oh_ God,” he moans, stilling inside Cas.

“You can move,” he groans but Dean shakes his head, his arm trembling as it’s still holding Castiel’s leg up.

“Not yet, or I’ll-“ he breathes, looking up at the ceiling and then closing his eyes. Castiel waits, desperate for movement, desperate to chase his release because he is so hard it hurts. On his stomach, a small puddle of precome has gathered by now, and when Dean opens his eyes again he trails his fingers through it.

“Now, move please,” he says and Dean leans in to kiss Cas, then licks off the liquid.

“God,” Dean mutters, and then does start pushing into Cas. He draws out again slowly and as the Vaseline spreads, his movements become smoother and when he hitches Cas’ leg up a little further. Cas shifts and sits up a little so he can see Dean’s dick disappear between his legs, he hits that sweet spot again.

“Oh,” Cas shouts, his knuckles gone white as he holds onto the table. “Faster, shit, Dean you have to move, I need-“

“I know what you need, baby,” Dean groans, fucking him harder and dropping his leg so he can fuck Cas with his hand too, moving quickly on his dick. Cas can barely keep his eyes opened anymore, sweat dripping down his forehead and back as Dean keeps fucking him. That’s when it hits him again—that this is Dean, who he has been fantasizing about for weeks, that it’s Dean inside him, that this is real—and when Dean leans back in to bite at Castiel’s mouth he moans and spills over his stomach.

He’d hoped it would have lasted a little longer, but Dean gently strokes him through it and when he has finished coming, he tells Dean, “Keep fucking me till you come.” He hasn’t thought about the words, but Dean complies without protest.

And it feels good, too, no matter how relaxed he feels. It’s better, maybe, because now he can concentrate on how it feels to have Dean moving inside of him, on what Dean looks like with his eyes closed and cheeks flushed and biting on his lower lip so hard that the flesh has gone pale around his teeth.

“Dean,” he says, covering Dean’s hand—now on his thigh—with his own. “Dean, look at me,” he urges now, and Dean opens his eyes. “It’s okay, you can, God, you should let go, you’re so wound up, you should,” and he spreads his legs as far as he can and takes one of Dean’s fingers into his mouth, sucking on it languidly, tasting the bitter remnants of his own precome.

That seems to do it for Dean, moaning as his hips still, his hand on Castiel’s hip gripping him tight enough to leave bruises. It takes half a minute before he pulls away, semen dripping out as soon as he does, and Cas reaches for the paper tissues on the desk to clean up.

He’s still trembling when he lifts himself up and looks for his boxers, and as he pulls them up he feels Dean’s warm presence behind him, wrapping his arms around him.

“The mandala looks great,” Dean says, kissing the skin. “I mean it, it’s really, really good.” His hands slide over Castiel’s chest.

“You did it, Dean, you’re complimenting yourself,” he smiles, turning around in Dean’s hold. “The feathers have smudged. You should print them again.”

Dean smiles too, “Should I? Are you saying you really want to get that tattoo now?”

Cas kisses him, surprised at how comfortable and easy this feels. “Another time, I suppose. You feel kind of shaky.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, burying his face in Cas’ neck. “I guess I do. You like pizza?”

“Yes,” Cas says, shivering as Dean trails the tips of his fingers down his back. “Yes, I do.”

“Wanna go get some?”

Castiel smirks, because a date after sex is a bit unorthodox but he’s not going to say no. “Only if you get dressed now. And if I can pay.”

Dean kisses him again, and then turns around to find his shirt. Castiel watches him for a second, still marveling at how his muscles move under his skin, and then turns away as well to find the rest of his own clothes.

 

 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

Castiel lies on his stomach on the bed, nuzzling his head further into the pillow as Dean traces the lines of the wings on his back. His hands are gentle even though it healed what feels like forever ago, the black ink already smoothed into his skin.

That doesn’t mean he can’t still look at it in marvel. Or that Dean has stopped coming up behind him, swiping his hands down Cas’ back before rounding them around his waist and pulling him close, whispering, “Do you still like them?”

“Yes,” Cas will always reply, and sometimes he’ll explain that they look perfect, but more often he will turn around and kiss Dean into silence.

Now, though, they’re quiet. Birds are tweeting outside and it’s not cold, but chilly enough to lie covered up by blankets. Dean keeps stroking his back until eventually his movements grow slow, and Cas knows he’s dozing off again so he turns around and smiles at his partner.

“I love you,” he mutters, and Dean pulls him closer, their naked bodies slotting together as perfect as they did last night, and the nights before that.

“I love you, too,” Dean whispers into his hair, his voice already trailing off as his grip on Cas loosens.

They sleep well into the afternoon, by which time the sun is high up in the air and Dean gets Cas breakfast in bed, which turns into sex on the floor, a shower, and then lazy hours spent in their small but cozy backyard.

Life is good, Cas thinks as he smiles and traces the single feather Dean got tattooed on his left shoulder, where he used to have an empty spot, left for something special.

 

 

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt by [badasstiels](http://badasstiels.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, who recently celebrated her birthday and wanted a tattoo!AU.
> 
> Huge thanks to [KleverKills](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KleverKills/pseuds/KleverKills) for betaing :) Any remaining mistakes you spotted were mine; feel free to point them out!


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